I Will Not Forget
by GKingOfFez
Summary: He would never forget, not ever, what it had felt like when the Doctor had been him. Regeneration angst.


The Doctor thought of who he'd been, for so long; a floppy haired, bow tie wearing idiot, prancing and twirling his way around the universe in a rackety old TARDIS, saving worlds, having adventures and generally being a daft old man. The twelfth face, but 13th regeneration (although the term '11th Doctor' had stuck firmly in his mind) and as it turned out he was merely going to be the latest in the long line. The Time Lords had granted him an entirely new set of regenerations, and that meant that the Doctor could live on, beyond Trenzalore and The End.

Of course, it just wouldn't be _him_.

He could feel his body thrumming, the regeneration energy racing around, altering his atoms and rearranging his molecules. It was going to happen very soon, and probably quite quickly. One second he would be there, and the next, gone. It was funny how life was like that.

The next Doctor wouldn't wear a bowtie, because bow ties won't be quite as cool to him. Fish custard won't taste the same on his new tongue, and he very much doubted that 'Geronimo' was quite going to cut it as a catch phrase anymore. Very soon, all of _that_ was going to vanish and be replaced by new thoughts and feelings and ideas that would dance through his mind as he rushed about the TARDIS on new legs and feet, new hearts thumping excitedly. This was the part he hated most about regeneration; the fact that he both lived _and_ died at the same time. It was one of the reasons he had been so very,_ very_ willing to leave for good. The universe, however, always seemed to have a different idea.

He, the Doctor, was going to die, and another man, _the_ _Doctor_, would stumble away. He'd done it 11 times before, felt his very skin rearrange itself before his eyes and each and every regeneration had left him different. Not just physically, but deep within his being. He could say that his very soul was being rewritten, his very essence twisting into a new shape and size. Those who came before him had been different men entirely, as would those who now came after him.

Unlike before, however, he would not let himself forget who he had been. The recent encounter with two of his previous incarnations had burned this thought into his mind; he had forgotten what it had been like to _be_ them, to have their thoughts and fears and experiences be his own. He didn't want that to happen to the floppy haired idiot that he had grown to adore. From now on, that would change. He was done with forgetting and running away from the things he had done, good or bad. Not a single second of who he had been for the last 600 years was going to slip through his fingers, it was all far too important and precious to leave behind.

He'd done so much in his time, travelling from little Amelia Pond's garden all the way to the battlefields of Trenzalore. He'd saved planets and space whales and dinosaurs, fought Daleks and Angels and Gods, and been left standing in the wreckage of whole cities and races. Between cracks, and Silence and the mystery of Clara Oswin Oswald, he'd kept himself busy. And of course, there was the running. Oh, how he had run.

He thought of Amy Pond and Rory the Roman guarding a box, River Song's hair through his fingers (Melody Pond cradled in his arms), Clara and lovely Nasreen Chaudhrey, his mate Craig, Sophie and Stormy, Merry Gejehl, brave, brave Rita, Jenny Flint, Vastra and Strax, Madge Arwell and her children, Canton Everett Delaware the Third, and Brian Williams sitting and watching the earth turn over a cup of tea. He thought of them all, in his last moments, his _friends _who he had loved and fought for, who had _always_ been the best of him. They were _his_, why he kept on running and fighting, and why he would continue to do so for another 13 regenerations.

This life he had lived as the 11th Doctor had been nothing short of spectacular. But as all things did, it had to end. As he'd once told an echo of his wife, there was a time to live and a time to sleep, and that time was now. The 12th Doctor was coming. But he would never forget, not ever, what it had felt like the Doctor had been him.

…

_"I will not forget one line of this, not one day, I swear. I will always remember when the Doctor was me."_

_..._

_More 11 angst from me. I'm still emotional over it, okay._


End file.
